Communal Table
Kim and I met in 1988. That was definitely the year because we were sitting in the backseat of Joie’s VW Rabbit, the three of us sounding the cry of what I am is what I am by Edie Brickell at top decibel. The windows were wide open, and the smell of gardenias and pungent Spanish moss drifted in as we ambled through the old Florida neighborhood.